‘But shouldn’t we wait for Krishna?’ she asked. ‘I do not see him anywhere. It’s only a small gap in the wall. It will be repaired soon.’

‘It was Krishna who commanded me to take you through the tunnel to safety if something like this happened. And that’s what I’m doing,’ Bheem said gloomily, as if escorting his wife to safety featured low on his list of things to do. ‘I should be out there killing some Greeks. Now I will have to rub shoulders with all the poor filth scampering in there, who are no doubt squeaking like mice in the dark. I hate that sound. It makes my head hurt. Come now.’

As she felt herself dragged away, Draupadi saw Satyabhama emerge from a side door of the sinking Keep, dust roiling up behind her like a wind-tossed shroud. Overcome by a giddy rush of courage, she resisted Bheem’s tugging and called out Satyabhama’s name. The War Mistress looked over at her and briefly nodded before returning to her soldiers. I wish I could have thanked you better for your lessons, Draupadi thought. Prakioni look after you.

‘No time to waste, woman.’ Bheem suddenly bent and hoisted her up on his shoulder like a sack of grain. Draupadi glanced back at Mathura one last time before she entered the tunnel. A sudden splash of crimson caught her eye like a scarlet shadow. The Red Cloaks are here! A cold dread swept through her as she saw a Greek emerge through the hole in the Iron Curfew. He had a horn in his hand. A moment later, a long gallant note echoed out over the First District.

The Battle of Mathura had begun.

BATTLE OF MATHURA: PART I

BATTLE OF MATHURA
PART I

A day may come when the courage of men fails…
but it is not THIS day.
Tolkien, Lord of the Rings

KRISHNA’s breath snagged as he was escorted out of the sinking Keep. A coughing fit clutched his throat, as sudden as a punch in the gut. He doubled up, his chest buzzing with each choking gasp. He felt a hand on his shoulder, a voice asking urgently: ‘Sir, your orders?’ Krishna stared back dumbly at the man who spoke, then up the bailey towards the Wall. A sea of scarlet flooded in through what seemed to be a hole in the Curfew.

Greeks in dozens. Hundreds. Arrows flitted from the Curfew down into them. Bodies fell on each other. But they kept coming. The Red Cloaks were everywhere now, slamming at shield-walls, charging at the soldiers, and hacking down any wounded that limped away from them. Krishna’s body shivered, he could not think. Ugrasen was dead. He had seen him die. No, he could not mope over that now. He needed silence to think, but his ears were full of the mad din.